The Starting Line
by thebloomcrewof1
Summary: Yeah, sure, I can make people explode...that's not gonna help me pass my Chemistry test? Chapter 5 Up!
1. Teen Angst Or Something Equally Stupid

So let me start off by saying that I never really liked my life in the first place. A lot of people want to pine that on "teen angst" or something equally stupid, but I know exactly why I don't like it. For one, my stepsisters are annoying brats. Two, my stepdad is a jackass. And three…

I'm a mutant.

Of course, I learned early on in the game to keep that kind of important stuff to myself. I'm not sure if it was the "mutie" picket signs I saw on my way to school or just watching Fox News 13 that convinced me to shut my yap for a few good years. It wasn't hard. There wasn't really anyone to tell…well, you know, no one smart enough to comprehend it. Just me and my mom. And she would never tell a soul.

I think my stepdad is suspicious though, but I really couldn't care less about what he thought. He does it so scarcely, I guess I should. But I don't.

I'm pretty sure a few other insignificant high schoolers out there are facing the same thing, but I don't think they're in exactly my situation. See, I got this letter a few months ago inviting me to some School for the Gifted for freaks like me off in Westchester. And that's fine and dandy, but I don't think I'd really fit in. A lot of people would say "But everyone is enduring the same obstacles…together, you can find strength and hope within each other blah blah blah". But I'm pretty sure it's not like it is in the movies or books or t.v. shows…nothing ever is. Take high school for example.

Years ago, I was willing to believe that high school was similar to that in t.v. shows. Movies are a tad exaggerated. I mean, its Hollywood, right? But the t.v. shows…they'd have some substance. It's not like I'm a chick or anything, spouting crap like "I gotta know what to wear and be popular and have the perfect outfit for homecoming so I can attract my Prince Charming and we can make out behind a dumpster and write lovenotes to each other and ___________(insert other unreliable, future plans here)"

Because that's honestly the type of shit I heard girls from my middle school blabbering about when I would peep through the hole in the locker room wall 2 years ago.

No, I just thought that t.v. show producers would go for something more realistic. Because that's what people wanted nowadays. Something real. Something funny as hell they could laugh at, knowing full well it wasn't scripted…or at least, knowing it was plausible. But, it seems I was terribly wrong…like always.

Tons of my classmates (enemies/annoyances) smoke stuff, eat things that aren't even edible in the first place, punch people for the pure love of violence, threaten to shoot other people, blatantly ask girls for sex.

Maybe not all schools are like this one, but I don't see how it would make a difference. We make up for a thousand troublemakers all by ourselves. Only a selected few of us were blessed with common sense…I guess in some way I'm among those few. But only when I feel like it.

The others are Finn, Echo, Nathan, Malcolm, Blair, Lola, and Kiya. But don't get your thongs all in a twist. That's like, what? 8 out of 24 of us. That's right. 24 outrageously different, "hormone-charged" teenagers in a little classroom driving what's left of our teachers completely insane.

Echo keeps them from going totally insane, I suppose. She's the quiet one that all the teachers adore like she's a godsend or something. She's not that perfect.

If we're talking perfect, let's talk about Finn then. Then we'll be talking perfect.

I mean, intellect and generosity and hotness wrapped up in a tiny-waisted, blonde-haired epitome of sexy. What more was there?

She's Echo's best friend though, so I guess she's her role model or something. There's Ivette too, another one of Finn's friends, but she's most definitely on the insane, smokes-stuff troublemaker side. Then there's Nathan. Or "Nate," as he's most commonly called. He's pretty cool, but we're not friends. Malcolm, my only friend (since 4th grade), is the genius of us all. Blair is Nate's "good friend". Cough cough. They're pretty close just to be buddies, but I'll leave it at that. Lola. She's the loudmouthed bitch I've saved a special section for in the loathing-section deep in the pits of my heart for the past bazillion years. Its people like her that'll take over the world one day…like Oprah. She's what I call a "richling." Her daddy owns some company so whatever cash he doesn't use to plant his money tree, pay Uncle Sam, or wipe his nose with, she gets. And of course, she uses it to buy her friends. So, once again, society proves to me it's not about your horrific, unbearably mind-crunching characteristics that'll eventually get you killed or in some form of bodily harm…nope…it's the shit you buy people and the wrapping paper you put it in.

And last and least is Kiya, the exchange student from Barbados. She's the type of girl who wouldn't be any different as a guy (minus her boobs…). She's assertive, passive aggressive, sarcastic, incredibly driven, and all-around just the type of chick you don't want to mess with. She's also got this really sweet Barbadian accent. Which, like always, equals up to some serious brownie points. I can clearly remember the first time I "met" her. It was probably around 5 months ago. Everyone in class was booing our science teacher and throwing paper planes and other assorted crap at the woman's head. I didn't hear much of what she said because she was mumbling and the booing was pretty loud, but I did see her shake her head and I made out the word "Savages" coming from her lips.

Savages indeed, Kiya, savages indeed. From that moment on, I respected her. Even if she does have a rivalry with Finn. Even if she was kind of snobby toward Malcolm when he sat in her seat accidentally one day. Even if she looks at us all like we're that unnamed crust everyone's had to wipe off of the corner of their nose at least once. Regardless of these things, she has my respect. And I think she even hates Lola too…which, again, brownie points.

And you know what else?

She's a mutant.

I saw her do something in the computer lab one day when she was arguing with Lola…it's hard to explain…but I know she is. And in some way, knowing that another freak sits two desks behind you in Advanced Chemistry makes life a little bit easier.


	2. The Danger of Pop Quizzes

Ever have one of those moments when you know the rest of the day is gonna suck just because something tiny and in a way, normal, happens. As if fate kind of gives you a preview to a really long horror movie you'd rather hang yourself than watch?

Yeah? Well, that's how my day is going. Really, really, horrible.

It started when my History teacher, Mr. Ralphwood, decided to give us a pop quiz. Now, until this year, I was never exposed to pop quizzes much. I mean, who would be? They're annoying and stupid and they come out of nowhere to be thorn in your side. Like a mosquito. But see, Mr. Ralphwood's pop quizzes are the worst.

Instead of using the 45 minute break he has before our class to write the questions on the board, he insists on giving them orally. That means every visual learner in our class will fail…or as Mr. Ralphwood likes to say "Is less likely to succeed." Even worse? He has this bizarre accent that he says doesn't even exist. And he wants us to write it in full sentences, by the way. So, here's an example:

"The ancient civilization who cuts hearts out of living homosapiens and used them as sacrifices to their sun god during religious ceremonies are the Toltecs. True or False?"

So bad news for all you people with common sense who like to put "T or F"

Nope. You gotta write "False, the ancient civilization who cut hearts out of living homosapiens and used them as sacrifices to their sun god during religious ceremonies are the Toltecs"

Don't feel like it? You _fail._

Don't remember the question? You _fail._

Didn't read the textbook because you used one of the "homework passes"? You _fail._

Now, me? I usually pass his stupid pop quizzes with a decent C. And that's fine with me. Dad always use to say, "It's not about how good you did, it's about how good you did compared to everyone else."

So considering my class is full of lazy idiots who barely shower, I'm the star pupil.

But today was different. Because today I had decided to use a Homework Pass. I'd like to take a moment out to warn every person out there that if there's one thing worse than taking drugs, it's taking a homework pass and thinking it's really gonna help you out. It won't. It's just some sick, twisted plan for good doobies like me to fail class so that the teacher's course looks harder than it really is. I'd also like to take a moment of silence for my GPA, which is probably going to die thanks to Mr. Ralphwood and his no good pop quizzes.

Anyway, I decided I would use the homework pass to ignore the book and the stupid review questions at the end. I mean, seriously…writing about ancient civilizations and their sun god wasn't going to make them come back to life. I really didn't care. So I planned to turn my pass in the next day, pass go, collect 200, and leave class feeling like a superstar.

But it didn't happen that way.

Mr. Ralphwood commanded we each take out a sheet of paper for his godawful pop quiz and I don't know…I panicked?

So I said, "Mr. Ralphwood…I sort of used my homework pass…I was gonna read it. Just not last night…is there any way I could____"

"Tsk, tsk, Mr. Achleton. You should know. Homework passes are only used for review questions…not the reading."

It seemed reasonable enough, but that didn't stop me from feeling like one of those poor suckers who didn't bother to read the small print on an insurance contract or something. I mean, really, he could've mentioned that earlier. He never did, did he?

I looked around to see if anyone else felt cheated out of their mind. Everyone just had blank stares on their faces. Like they were all sheep solemnly heading for the slaughterhouse. I sighed to myself…no way to get out of it.

So I took the pop quiz. I didn't know how to answer which type of winds were light and fluctuated and caused conquistadors to sink. I didn't know what ancient city was built in the center of a lake. I didn't even know the names of the King and Queen of Spain.

Everyone else seemed to know what they were doing except me…so I just kind of sat there, twiddling my thumbs and trying to find out the easiest way to get Mr. Ralphwood fired.

After picking up all the papers, he inspected mine thoroughly. I didn't see what there was to inspect. I failed. Then, after flipping the page back and forth a gazillion times, looking for answers that he thought were maybe secretly hidden someplace, he set the papers down on his wooden podium and began to walk across the front of the classroom in that stupid way teachers do. His eyes flickered to me for a second, pure amusement flashing in them, before he looked across the rest of my classmates.

"See, children, this is why you need to pay attention. Or else, you'll end up like Mr. Achleton here."

I hated the way he said my name. Like it was some disease everyone was forbidden to talk about.

"He failed his quiz because he was too lazy to even read the book. What do you children expect college to be like? A walk in the park? A picnic? Hm?"

His questions were rhetorical, and even if they weren't, my classmates knew better than to talk when people had that glazed look in there eyes___like they were gonna pull a butcher knife on you any second and interrogate you about something only complete psychos would care about.

Then I saw it. Or heard it, rather. "He just didn't use his homework pass properly…that's all"

It was Kiya.

Naturally, I would've turned around to give her a thankful smile, but at the moment, my mind was too busy trying to telepathically blurt out to her "What the hell are you thinking?!"

I wasn't a telepath though. So my face just turned red like it did when I wanted to slap something without anyone noticing.

Mr. Ralphwood's chapped lips parted a little, revealing disgusting, coffee-stained teeth. His flabby cheeks sprang upward as he did and his head slowly creaked over in Kiya's direction, like a lever in his neck had snapped and it was causing his whole head to move in slow mo.

It was times like these that I didn't want to believe that principals actually interviewed teachers before they hired them. Seriously! Who would hire this nutcase?! He looked like he was about to whip out a gun on all of us and call it a day.

"Ah, Kiya Berkely" he murmured in this soft tone, almost sadistic sounding.

Kiya didn't look scared, but she did look confused. Like no one had ever looked at her that way before. Probably not. They probably didn't have crazies like Mr. Ralphwood running around in Barbados.

"You need to learn to keep your mouth shut, lest I have to shut it for you"

Kiya looked like she was about to pounce on that guy quick. And I would've been more than happy to watch, but I wanted a piece of him myself. It really bugged me how people in authority thought they could talk to you in any kind of way. In fact, it really sickened me to the core. Didn't they know that the people they treat like dirt would eventually become mass murderers, that they'd come back with a vengeance with you on the top of their list. It happened every day. I didn't even notice my hands had balled up into fists, that my mass of wavy brown hair had covered one of my eyes, shielding my history teacher from an orb of fury that was ready to burn a hole through his skull. My mouth opened for a second…

"Dude, what's your problem?!"

That voice didn't even sound like me, like something I would say. But it was. And I knew as soon as Mr. Ralphwood glared at me with his hideous swamp green eyes. This wasn't the first time I had blurted my thoughts aloud though. I wasn't really scared anymore, either. I was too mad to be, I guess.

Then, Mr. Ralphwood's eyes glimmered with pure hatred. It was the look people gave mutants when they were about to mal them in an alleyway; it was the look senators gave reporters when they mentioned the attack on Alcatraz. It was the look that bullies and teachers and, dammit, nearly _everybody_ had given me for the past few years of my life. Just because I was a loser. Just because I wasn't interested in playing football or listening to a certain band's music. It was a look that could kill. And I gave it right back.

"No wonder your father doesn't want you. You're a disrespectful young man, aren't you? I wouldn't be surprised if your mom____"

That was all I heard. I knew my face was going red, but I was angry. He shouldn't be able to say that stuff to me. No one should. Not for being a mutant, not for anything. I hated him…I hated him so much…And then I realized something.

Mr. Ralphwood wasn't talking.

In front of me, Mr. Ralphwood's fair skin was turning paler and paler. His breath quickened hysterically as he looked at me with enlargened eyes. His scrawny legs began to buckle underneath him and he attempted to grab my desk for support.

The guy looked like he was about to throw up…so I did the only thing I could think of…I scooted my desk away from him.

He'd of fallen flat on his face, had his thin, frail arms not kept him up. He was screaming now…it was muffled as if he was choking, but he was definitely screaming. I looked around to see if anyone would do anything, but they were all too busy yelling and looking at something I hadn't noticed.

Smoke.

Deep dark smoke was now billowing from Mr. Ralphwood's mouth rather quickly. Unless he'd eaten Taco Bell for breakfast, something wasn't right here. Blood oozed from his nose and his lips began to fry.

Finn scampered from her desk and was off to get help while the rest of us watched in shock. Smoke was filling up the entire room now and people began coughing as the fire alarm was set off across the entire building. The loud beeping burned my ears, but I was too busy focusing on Mr. Ralphwood. The rest of my class didn't seem too interested anymore. They decided to jet before they became victim to whatever new airborne sickness had plagued our history teacher. The only ones who had stayed behind were Nathan and Kiya.

Kiya looked at me with a glare I couldn't even describe. It was like fear, confusion, and understanding all in one.

Nathan was behind her, trying to talk to the rapidly dying Mr. Ralphwood. He was saying something incoherent, but before any of us could make out his words, Malcolm burst through the door, running all the way from his Geometry class from across the corridor. I couldn't even pretend to be surprised at what was happening. I was too afraid someone was gonna blame me for this. Surely, someone had to know I was a mutant.

"Guys!" He screamed, suffocating from the smoke almost instantly, "Fire___"

His voice faded as he peered through the smoke at the nearly dead history teacher sprawled across the floor in front of us. He looked up at me in question and I couldn't look him in the eye. I knew I had done this. And I felt guilty.

"Drill." Kiya finished for him grimly.


	3. Books Cause AngerInduced Spaz Attacks

Yeah, so somehow I managed to single-handedly murder my history teacher. But like I said, that was only the beginning.

The continuation of my suckish day started with what came directly after Social Studies class…a fire drill. Or, at least, that's what a lot of other people thought because they didn't know Mr. Ralphwood had been fried from the inside out and was lying on the floor of his classroom in a helpless heap.

So, like always, there was a whole bunch of whining and complaining about how the alarm was too loud. I heard voices through the walls from people wondering where the smoke was coming from and I couldn't do anything besides swallow a lump in my throat. I looked at Kiya and Nathan who were choking on the infected air and examining the room, as if there were candid cameras in the classroom. Kiya was a level-headed individual. She'd probably come up with some sort of plan for us to contact the police station and inform them thoroughly on the bizarre smoke that had ____

"We need to escape school." Kiya stated.

Great. When in doubt, turn to Nate for advi___

"And we should take the others too. Which way do you think will be faster? We can't use any of the fire exits." Nate replied to her.

Now I was just really bewildered. First of all, escaping school would be like going A-wall or making a jailbreak or something. The stairwells were made out of brick and cement. You needed special electronic keys just to open the doors to this place. We were on the 3rd floor of our building, too. There weren't even any windows in the classroom!

I heard Kiya give a frustrated sigh and look over at Malcolm.

He seemed to think she was using eye-contact to interrogate him as to why he was still here, so he said, "Well, Mrs. Macroft sent me to get you guys when she came up three short during the headcount." Malcolm was getting bombarded with smoke, as the grayish fog flew into the clear air of the hallways, looking for some more oxygen to contaminate.

"Why are we even trying to escape at all?" I asked. My throat was dry from coughing heavily and my heartbeat was drumming against my chest so noisily I could barely hear my own voice. I guess I already knew the answer. I had killed someone. Okay, fine. I was going to the big house, my name would show up on the news tonight, I would forever shame my family blah blah blah. I was completely freaked out, sure, but why were Kiya and Nate even concerned in the first place. They might be mutants, but they weren't the ones who had accidentally made our teacher nearly spontaneously combust. This was my fault, not theirs.

"Because you killed someone," Kiya answered in that 'Duh' tone she used with Lola and all of the other popular sluts at our school.

I nodded, even though it didn't make sense. My eyes must have furrowed (a sure sign I was totally lost here) because Nate stepped in to explain. "Obviously, ever since the attack on Alcatraz, mutants aren't being trusted____"

"If they were ever even trusted in the first place" Kiya interrupted. Nate ignored her, "Look, Westley, if they find out a mutant did it, they can't just assume it was you. They need proof. They'll take blood tests and mental scans. Not just of you. But of every person who was here when that happened," he pointed to Mr. Ralphwood's corpse. The smoke had completely dissipated from our teacher's mouth and the room, but that didn't stop us from coughing. It had to be the smell the smoke had sent off…it smelled like extra-crispy internal organs…and I knew that wasn't too far from the truth.

"And when they find out there's more than just one mutant here at the school, they'll find some way___make up some psychotic lie____so that we'll all be blamed. Staying here to hope things pan out good would be like committing suicide" Kiya continued.

Realizations began to bitchslap me in the face. So Kiya is for sure a mutant? So is Nate? Who are the others? How did they both think the same exact thing about the authorities? Did that make one of them a telepath? How were we supposed to escape anyhow?

I'm not gonna pretend like I wasn't afraid. I was. I didn't want to escape school (even though I never thought I'd say that.) At least, I didn't want to escape knowing the police would be hot on our trail and ready to take mental scans of us. That was enough to freak any teenager out.

I was so absorbed in Kiya and Nate and this new revelation, that I totally forgot Malcolm was still standing in the doorway. I turned around to face him and the other two followed my gaze. Malcolm's face had lost its color, his nostrils began to flare, and his eyes had turned into sharp little slits.

"You're a mutant, Wes…and you didn't even tell me?" were his only words.

Well, this is just great. I killed my teacher and the only friend I've had for years looks like he's ready to pulverize me into a dust.

"Well…what was I supposed to say…I didn't know how to…I can't even control it. I figured it wouldn't matter. I mean, no big deal, right?"

"No big deal?!" he screeched at me angrily, "You _MURDERED_ our history teacher!"

"Shut-up, shut-up, shut-up!" Kiya yelled. And I did shut-up. Because if there's one thing in this world that scares me more than policemen and biased doctors taking mental scans of me, or ex-best friends pulverizing me into dust, its Kiya with her temper flaring at a nice 200 degrees Fahrenheit. "We're a whole bunch of mutants standing directly in front of our dead history teacher, the staff and just about every other living organism in this whole damn school has already left the building, and we only have about 4 minutes to get out of here before firemen come in searching for our presumably dead bodies! There is no time on this godforsaken planet to worry about your traumatically crumbling friendship!"

She looked over at me. Her curly black hair whipped around as she did and tiny beads of sweat poured down her cocoa-colored face from the heat of the classroom, "Do you wanna live or _what_?"

I should've been angry at her. But I knew she was right. No one had stuck around long enough to know if Mr. Ralphwood had literally started to burn. They probably thought there was a fire and we were dead. It's not like there were any windows to spot the flame either. This could either be a good way to pretend we had died, maybe even left the school grounds in delirium, or this was a really bad way to be caught red-handed.

Malcolm sighed. "Well, if you're all mutants and Westley really did kill Mr. Ralphwood…I'm not defending any of you freaks!"

My friend-turned-nemesis turned around at the speed of light and began to run down the hallways, turning into a black silhouette before disappearing completely in the smoke that was still wafting outside.

I started to go after him, but Kiya yanked me back by my wrist. "There's no time for a heroic chase," she snapped, "If we really want to stop him, we can start by getting the hell out of here."

"Can one of you fly? Walk through walls like that one girl from the news on____"

"Nope." Nathan shut me down immediately.

I could tell Kiya was getting irritated that we had already lost so much time.

"We could try going down the stairwell and using an alternate exit," I tried to calm her down. I don't know why her bad moods affected me like they did. Maybe it was a healthy fear of being ripped to shreds by her nimble fingers; maybe her mutant ability had some weird empathic influence on people.

"That's what I was thinking," she mused absent-mindedly before snapping back to attention, "Okay. We'll do that. But when we get down to the first floor we'll have to use a doorway that goes to the back of the school. They always line up in the front, right?"

Nate nodded his head in affirmation. Kiya walked around a few of the desks that had been turned over in the other students' rush to get out of the classroom. She grabbed her purse and stuffed it into her backpack which was nearly empty, only holding her history notebook, her Geometry textbook (for the next class), and a notebook and novel I couldn't identify. Nate had followed her lead, so I decided to do the same. Something told me we wouldn't be coming back here for anything so I did the one thing I had wanted to do for a while. After unzipping my black and gray Jansport backpack, I grabbed my history textbook and threw it against the wall with an earsplitting _BANG!_

I had managed to forget just that quick that Kiya and Nate were even with me in the room. My face went red from embarrassment. I had just had some sort anger-induced spaz attack in front of the class pretty boy and a chick who already seemed hesitant to let me within a 20-mile radius of herself. I zipped up my backpack to delay turning around to their stares. But when I finally did, I was surprised to see Nate chuckling under his breath and Kiya with some goofy grin slapped across her face.

Maybe it was their way of letting me know having anger-induced spaz attacks were okay, but the fact that it just amused them embarrassed me even more.

Well, we grabbed our stuff and off we went. We had already lost time and I could tell Kiya wasn't playing around anymore by the overwhelming tension and determination that was flickering in her eyes.

The hallways had disgusting pale pink tile with an occasional sea-green tile popping up every now and again. It wasn't like it was designed that way. It looked like some of the pink tiles had undergone damage, and when they tried to replace them, they found out the color was out of stock so they had to settle for something else. And I guess the unflattering sea-green was that something else. My palms began getting sweaty from anxiety as I caught a glance, through the humongous glass window at the end of the hallway, of a few firetrucks pulling into the school parking lot where a whole bunch of kids were lined up for "safety". That was the one thing I didn't get about our fire drill procedures. We'd just stand outside in the parking lot, pretending as if there weren't a fire, as if there wouldn't be any flaming debris exploding and jabbing our eyes out if we didn't duck in cover. I'd always wanted to believe that if for some reason our school did catch on fire, we'd find a more suitable place to go. But as I passed the window, seeing my fellow classmates and the whole faculty lined up in the gaping space where cars should be, I knew that wasn't the case.

We made a sharp turn at the end of the hall and continued down, passing posters advertising the school plays and the boy's restrooms. I turned my head to see Nate running up ahead of us to burst through the stairwell door with such strength it almost scared me. Maybe he wasn't a telepath, I thought. Maybe he had super strength and duration and_____

"Speed it up back there, Westley!"

I snapped out of my thoughts to see Kiya already beginning down the stairs and I hadn't even reached the doorway. So I did speed it up.

We ran down the stairs, Nate jumping down the last three steps of every flight. I wasn't sure if he was doing that to get downstairs faster because he had seen the firetrucks, or if he was just doing that to look cool. Either way, he got down before Kiya and I, but that was where our road stopped. Nate attempted to twist the doorknob….it wouldn't open.

"_Dammit!"_ Kiya growled, kicking the door and kneeing it powerfully. I didn't judge her. Anger-induced spaz attacks were okay during times like these.

I probably would've gotten in line behind her to open a can of whoopass on the door like it was the sole reason my life sucked so much, but then I heard this pounding noise from outside the firm brick walls of the stairwell. It sounded like someone was knocking against the walls with a gigantic hammer.

My stomach dropped the way it did when I had gone on my first rollercoaster. Nate's face twisted in fear and a drop of disappointment. Kiya looked downright infuriated and positioned herself like she was about to fight some wild animal.

The firemen were here. They had to be.


	4. Freaks

Looking back on it all, I cringe at thinking that it could even be firemen…or police (which was my second thought). For one, there were plenty of windows and glass double-doors on the first floor. This was the 21st century and they had guns and other big, hazardous weapons and tools. It wasn't like the firemen were gonna to try to randomly get through the stairwell with a battering ram or something.

But that's what we thought. And we all were too roused to think properly.

So there we were...3 mutant high-schoolers wigging out over the possibility of only getting one phone call, having a stressful interrogation session, and ultimately, being put in the slammer. I wanted to tell Kiya and Nate that maybe the authorities weren't that corrupt, that maybe they'd just blame me and be done with it. But before I could even open my mouth to convince them to leave me behind, the brick wall to our left began to collapse.

Dust began to seep from the cracked cement, filling the room with its chalky substance and causing us all another coughing fit. I was waiting for the "This is the police! Put your hands where we can see 'em!" line while the wall began to crash down, but then I saw the figures of a bunch of people that looked around my height, looking like ghosts in our currently powdery surroundings.

Finally, after the fogged air had cleared up and I could see Nate and Kiya up against the wall coughing hysterically and bulky chunks of cement near my feet, I looked up to see who exactly had caught us.

It was a few of my classmates.

I know right! You must be thinking, "Damn you, Westley! All that suspense for that?!"

Well, yeah. But I was just as surprised as you were.

Standing in front of me in a brown miniskirt, with perfectly-glossed lips and strategically fluffed blonde hair…was Paige.

I pretty much felt like shooting myself just then. Rather than seeing some grouchy, gun-wielding jerk with a badge or some idiot crying into the smoke, "Hello?! Is anyone alive?" I got Paige instead. And I wasn't happy about it one bit.

What's worse? There were other people standing behind her. There was Blair Xency, balancing awkwardly on the uneven cement in a pair of her expensive girly heels. Behind her was Felix Ramirez, a random loser I shared art class with who was still coughing his guts out from the dust and smoke his lungs had inhaled. Peering from behind Felix, was Stacy Arlietto, glaring at us like we were angels sent to save her from some terrible fate. And then there was Mitch, but his afro of ostentatious curly red hair was in his face, so I couldn't really tell if he thought it was fantastic or outrageously disgusting that we had still lived.

And as if I hadn't gotten mentally bitchslapped by realizations enough times today, I realized one more thing: These people (that I absolutely couldn't stand, by the way) were the others…my new buddies for some project Kiya and Nate must have been planning for all of us.

I really wanted to just run away from everyone at that point. But I couldn't. The police would just track me down…or maybe even the military. I heard sometimes they needed the Air Force and other camouflaged idiots to go after mutants and lock them up in "Special Rehabilitation Centers for Homosuperiors."

SRCH my ass! Half of those people who went in never came out! And when they did, it was only to be taken to the wacky shack or something.

"We weren't sure what had happened to you guys," Paige explained. Her arms had brick dust all over them, and I began to suspect she was the one who had caused the wall to crumble. That sort of freaked me out. I mean, if Paige really did have superstrength than all those teases I gave her in P.E. class about breaking a nail might just result in me being torn limb from limb. I glanced at the others. Felix had finished sounding like a cat coughing up a hairball with his insistent wheezing and looked over at us with a big smile on his face.

What was his power? Super geekiness?

"We escaped from the line just barely," Stacy cut in, coming from behind Felix to enter the dilapidated stairwell, stepping around cracked bricks.

"Did they follow you?" Nathan asked, brushing some of his dirty blonde locks away from his flawless face.

"Some of them tried," Mitch offered, sticking his hands into the dirty pockets of his baggy black jeans, "But we were too good to get caught."

I bit my tongue lightly to hold back a scoff. I was supposed to believe the class rebel that certified and nicely-paid school officials were about to let a handful of us run off to no-man's-land in the midst of a fire drill? Hell no.

"They're probably on our tail then," Kiya remarked.

I smirked. I'm glad Kiya had enough sense not to buy into that crap. She began walking outside where Felix and Paige were still standing, awaiting a game plan.

She didn't stop walking though so everyone began to shuffle after her. I guess Kiya was the head honcho of all of this mess. I wanted to blame her, but she had kind of saved my ass, so I decided to put if off for a better day.

"So here's what's up," she began, "A few months ago Nathan and Paige told me they got a brochure, asking them to be a part of a school for mutants that's located in Westchester…Xavier's School for the Gifted to be exact."

I noticed the name. It was the school for freaks off in Westchester that had sure enough spammed me and my mailbox a few weeks back. At first, I thought maybe it was computer geek's lameass way of pulling a fast one over on people. Or maybe the government was trying to search out mutants and lure them to one place to get attacked by a whole bunch of army tanks or something. When I did finally believe it was a school, I didn't act on it. Or, at least, my mom hadn't. She didn't want to send me off miles away without knowing who these people were or how they even knew I was a mutant in the first place. I was glad she was concerned, but now the school seemed like the only option. I couldn't come back here to O'Reilly Senior High again…not after killing my teacher.

"And it seems we've all gotten the brochure…well, maybe except you, West___"

"I've got it…well, I had it anyway" I interrupted her. I think maybe I lost it somewhere. Kiya just nodded her head at me before continuing.

"Anyways, I figure we could just go there."

Everyone looked like they wanted to say, "Damn, Kiya. You're pretty talented. Either you can crap out some magical teleportation machine or you sure know how to make traveling miles away from here with no money, no means of transportation, and with the government hot on our tails, pretty easy."

But it was Kiya. So no one said a word.

Then Nathan opened his mouth. He had that "tread carefully" tone in his voice, "How are we going to get there?"

"Mitchell is 16! Maybe he could drive us?" Paige pointed out enthusiastically, turning to give Mitch a hopeful smile, her eyes pleading with his to agree with her.

"I don't have my license," the fro-clad Mitch admitted sheepishly.

"Oh" Paige said, disappointment lacing her words.

"Well…we could take a bus?" Nathan said.

That would've been fine; except buses took money…and we didn't have money.

"Hmmmmmmmmm…." Felix thought noisily, tapping his finger to his chin in an infuriatingly stupid way.

"Gee, Felix, don't blow a brain gasket," Stacy muttered sarcastically.

"Okay! I've got an idea!" Felix proclaimed, his left eye twitched and his nasally voice spouted over the silence, "We hijack a car!"

I'm ashamed to say I actually considered his pathetic idea for a few seconds, before my face went red…you know, in that way it does when I want to slap something really hard without anyone noticing.

"As if we're not in enough trouble with the law already" I muttered. Paige giggled at my comment. At least, I think it was a giggle. You could never tell. It was like Eartha Kitt's catwoman purr mixed with a rumbling squeal…yeah, I know. Nasty.

"We'll have to go home then." Kiya explained as we began walking through the mass of trees behind our school that led to an intersection.

Felix began to protest and Stacy whined while Nathan squeezed her hand and cleared his throat in that way he did before he protested something.

Kiya shut them all down with a few flicks of that sharp tongue of hers, "Shut-up you godforsaken babies. I'm not gonna sit here and breastfeed you the answers to all of your insignificant problems. I don't care if you don't want to go home. Fine, we'll be walking to Westchester. But if you want to go home and get a few things that you just might need to _survive _on this trip, you'll cry yourself a river, build a bridge, and get the hell over it. Do I make myself clear, imbeciles?!"

It was like when my mom had enrolled me in boot camp for a month and a half. Kiya had the whole slave-driving lieutenant thing down packed. No one looked particularly happy to be called imbeciles, but no one looked ready to challenge her either.

"And now that we've graduated from our soiled diapers to thongs, I'd also like to state that this isn't a trip for the weak-hearted. Either you're coming with us the whole way or you're staying home, trying to fight off the press and make up a lie to cover yourself. But in the long run, if you slow me or any other dedicated, hard-working individual down on this trip, get ready to get the snot beaten out of you."

Yep…definitely like boot camp.

It got really quiet after Kiya stopped talking and I figured everyone was thinking about what she had said. This was the end of our old lives, in a way. We weren't coming back. Sure, we could've lied and said none of us caused our teacher's death…we could've lied about a lot of shit, but that wouldn't stop us from being mutants.

We all knew, at that moment, we lived in a messed up world where we would probably never be accepted. To society and every other human being, we weren't people. We were freaks.

But the ironic thing was that before we had all even known each other, we pretty much had already labeled each other as such. And we all probably still hated each other's guts and we all probably would rather be getting roasted in the Underworld than travel for days with each other. So that being said, it really made me wonder…if everyone we thought was a freak, really was a freak (mutant or non)…that would make a lot of people a freak…in fact, that would make everyone a freak.


	5. Pointe Shoes

After Kiya snapped at us and ordered us to go home, we went our separate ways. The plan was that we would go home before the authorities showed up, packed our bags while our parents were away, look for as much cash as possible and then jet before the school contacted our parents and they came dashing home in a panicky mess.

It wasn't really the three-dimensional interwoven plot only masterminds could conceive…it was just a bunch of exhausted high-schoolers coming together to haul ass as far away from their lives as possible.

Felix and Mitch, who usually rode their bikes to school, had to walk home because their bikes were still padlocked in the school parking lot. Paige's dad usually dropped her off to school because they lived a good distance away, so she had to take the bus with me and Kiya. Nate decided to take the subway because it was easiest and brought Blair along too. He said it was so he could "make sure she didn't get hurt" or something else equally dim-witted that he could say that would make him look like a chivalrous hero. I was waiting for Blair to say "Blah blah blah I'm a big girl blah blah and I blah don't need your blah blah protection blah". But she didn't start verbally massacring him, so I guess maybe she was a little freaked out about this whole thing and really did need him.

We had to walk a good distance to get to the bus, which ended up being, like, 15 minutes late. And when we finally boarded I had the worst experience of my life: Paige started talking to me about girly shit I really didn't care about.

We had to wait a few minutes to allow everyone time to get settled, but when the automobile finally started moving, it was like I was headed for hell at 50 mph. I looked to my left and saw Kiya staring blankly out the window. Well, it really wasn't a blank stare…it was just…soft. And its hard for me to admit because Kiya really isn't the soft, cuddly type. I began to wonder why she was that way exactly. I was reading this newspaper article once about how childhood experiences could drastically effect who you became. I thought maybe she had been victim to cruel abuse or bullying…I couldn't imagine that was the case with her though. From what I could tell, Kiya came from a snugaboo family from Barbados. I didn't think people would bully her either. And not just because she had a backbone of steel, but because when you really got down to it, there wasn't much to bully. She was clever and pleasant enough if you could get around the edges. She was…you know…pret___

"So, Westley, I have a question," Paige's voice was like a scythe, tearing up my thoughts in one sharp slice.

"Umm….okay. But if it's about those times in P.E. when I____"

"No, no, silly….it's about something else. Something more…surveyish"

It didn't take Einstien to know that "surveyish" was not a word, but before I could point out to her how grammatically incorrect she was, she continued her question…a question that would, no doubt, be saturated and dripping with stupid juice.

"Why is it that guys wear Axe cologne and other bad-smelling crud to be more attractive to us females? If they really wanted us to attack them fiercely out of raw lust, why don't they just ask us what our favorite smell is from Bath & Body Works and just wear that. It makes things easier, dontcha think? Why do guys put on smelly crap like that and expect us to make out with them?"

Gee, I don't know, Paige. Maybe because asphyxiating from inhaling too much "Daydreamer's Peach Breeze" isn't on my "Top Ten Ways to Die" list. I mean, I had been in that place before with my mom. It was like torture. It's one thing to be able to stand the smells, but you could really only breathe in too much before getting, like, toxic poisoning in your lungs or something.

"Maybe our noses are trained to like Axe, and yours are trained to like Bath & Body Works?" I guessed. I didn't feel like talking to her and the aura of her idiocy was literally sucking every joule of energy in my body straight from my limbs. I could hear Kiya chuckling under her breath next to me, in her own seat. I had really sounded like a complete moron just then, but I was too exhausted from today's previous events to care.

I won't bore you with the silly details of the rest of our trip, just as long you know it involved a potty-mouthed worker from McDonalds, a deranged old lady singing "99 Bottles of Pop On the Wall" until her granddaughter started throwing hard candies at her, and an obese middle-aged man feeding his poodle licorice sticks.

Anyways, after Paige got off, we stopped near the same street that you needed to take to get to Kiya's house. I don't know why, but I wasn't so sure she should go in alone. Sure, she was more than capable of handling herself, but there was just something that didn't seem right about the neighborhood. Maybe it was the aftershock of my powers beginning to play tricks on my mind, or maybe I just wasn't used to seeing a whole bunch of houses with girls skipping rope outside and windows all intact. Either way, I had to open my big mouth.

"Maybe I should go with you," I had blurted, beginning to get out of my seat before it came to a complete stop.

She had whizzed around to glare at me as though I had just grown a second head.

"No, no…you need to go home. The quicker, the better. We're going to meet at the bus terminal a few blocks away remember? Just take the bus and meet us there…"

She turned on her heel to begin stepping down the steep stairs of the bus, but I stubbornly argued, "It won't take me long. What's the harm?"

I could almost imagine a vein bulging out of her head. I remembered all those times my mom joked about how I could drive a priest to drink. "Why the heck do you want to go so bad? It's just my house."

Why did I care again? Was I worried? Was I interested in her past? Trying to make a new friend?

"I don't want to___my house is a few blocks away___I just___"

"Can't finish my sentences?" she guessed snappily, before rolling her eyes.

"You getting off, Ma'am?" the bus driver asked. She leaned back in her chair, scratching the leather covering off of the steering wheel and eyeing the road ahead of her as if it were her arch-nemesis. Kiya sighed and turned to me, "Come on" she moaned.

I lazily (but happily) stumbled after her as we walked down the clean sidewalks…or, ya know, as clean as New York streets could be.

"So you live with your mom and dad?"

"Yeah," she murmured. It was soft and unsure. I presumed she was just fatigued like I was and didn't feel like talking about her family.

"And you?"

Fatigued or not, I hated talking about my family…if you could even call it that. There was mom. She was the only _normal_ one out of all of us. Then there was Brandon Dostlebein, my schizophrenic, buttface stepdad, my own personal ugly stepsisters, Madonna and Britney (please…don't ask about the names…), and they're devious kitten, Piranha. We were so dysfunctional it wasn't even funny.

"My mom and step…people," I forced out.

She covered her mouth suddenly and I could see her eyes twinkle mischievously. She was obviously trying to hold back laughter…and one of her world-famous wisecracks.

"Yeah…I know what _that's_ like," she explained after she'd removed her hand. But how could she? She came from a snugaboo family.

"You come from a snugaboo family," I said plainly. It occurred to me at that moment, though, that I didn't have any facts to back it up. I just naturally assumed someone like her had it all made out for her.

She snorted and rolled her eyes skyward, then turned and faced me as we stood on the bottom step leading to her house's entrance. "Is that what you think?" she asked me. Uh oh, trick question time. Was this rhetorical or did I need to answer that? She stood there for seconds, awaiting some sort of response from me, so I muttered, "Yeah…yeah that's what I think."

Wrong move. Here we go…chess time.

"Well, I don't. Just because a family is legally intact doesn't mean they are mentally or emotionally. I couldn't expect you to know or even comprehend half of _my_ situation. Know why? Because you're too damn stuck on yourself, Westley. It's all about you. Your mom packs you lunch and sends you a sticky note with mushy love on it every single day. And what do you do as soon as you get to the cafeteria? You fish it out, crumple it up, and then go on eating your peanut-butter sandwich as if you didn't just single-handedly manage to tear up your mother's love into tiny bite-sized pieces. Your mom actually cares about you, dipshit. So don't screw with what you've got and don't bite the hand that feeds you…" she trawled through her backpack until she found the keys and opened the door with a small shove, "It might just bite back one day. And the last thing _you_ need is another enemy."

_Pawned._

The door creaked open grimly like something you'd see from a horror movie. I heard a small patting noise and looked up into her eyes to see if she had heard it, but she didn't seem to, so I blamed it on my overactive imagination. Her lecture had kind of gotten to me and I guess I should've seemed more…ya know…thankful…but really, that noise had blasted any semblance of gratefulness from my mind.

We walked through the hallways of her home. It was pretty big actually, but she had 4 siblings (she had told me so once), so I expected as much. It was dark too…she hadn't bothered to turn the light on when we came in, so when I felt something scratch against my jeans, I yelled and kicked hysterically.

A black cat went skittering across the floor at the speed of light, meowing all the way there.

"What the hell are you doing to Gabby!" she fussed, shoving me out of the way to go after her precious cat, who was busy licking its fur and looking innocent in that way cats do after they did something to mess with your head.

She waltzed over to the feline and picked it up, scratching its head lightly. All I could hear was the cats satisfied purring as its master itched that nice spot behind its ears.

I had never been so jealous of a cat…

"Stay here!" she ordered, beginning to climb the hardwood steps that led to the second floor, "I don't want you kicking any of my personal belongings."

"I didn't kick her!" I whined back, but she was already out of sight, her godawful cat in tow now.

Now I was alone in a strange house in the dark. So I did the one thing she told me not to do…I roamed around a little bit, got familiar with the area. I tip-toed deeper into the hallways, checking every room.

One room had a fireplace and a couch, then the restroom, the kitchen. I stopped at one room though, one that took me by surprise. It was probably the biggest room in the house, stretching a good ways. It was filled with a piano and a metal rail went across the wall across from the door. There were shoes lined up against the wall…ballet shoes. I didn't think much of it at first…I figured one of her siblings did it or something. But then I noticed a picture on the wall to the right. It was professional picture, black and white. It had Kiya in it, her curly hair cascading perfectly down her shoulders, and dressed in a leotard and tutu. Ballet shoes adorned her feet; the very same ones that were lined against the wall.

"They're Pointe shoes," her voice called from behind me. I froze, trying to think of an excuse…


End file.
